


The Emerald Isle

by Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Car Accident, Choking, M/M, OC, Quickie, drunk violent shagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmes/pseuds/Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and his husband Jim have come a long way. Still, some days the two never seem to meet eye-to-eye. After a long and tiring day, Sebastian Moran wants nothing more than to be abused, a request that Jim refuses. Frustrated, the hit man takes off in order to fulfill his fantasies elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emerald Isle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [folkinround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkinround/gifts).



> This is an expatiation of a scene in a mormor RP I have going with user folkinround. The tale is therefore brief and may seem slightly disjointed.

All Sebastian knew was rage.

Once upon a time, Jim wouldn’t hesitate to fulfill a polite request for a bit of sadism—he’d inflict it happily, in fact.

But oftener and oftener it was becoming quite a difficult thing for Sebastian to draw out of him, their relationship having reached the point where Jim was reluctant to mistreat him at all.

As such, the sniper found himself drunk, spurned, and humiliated, gritting his teeth as he clutched the steering wheel, nails biting into the hand-stitched leather as he drove on. It was a miracle he made his destination.

The location was an old, tired town that at one point had been a bustling little city until the era of industry left, dooming it to become nothing more than a sooty pub town somewhere between Cork and Youghal. It was perfect for Sebastian’s purposes.

The pub was in no way special; merely selected for its proximity to Sebastian’s car, and he made his way inside, looking to quench his thirst.

Within a half hour he found himself outside again, this time tucked away in the back of an alley, letting out a few gruff moans and low shouts as teeth bit harshly into his neck.

The man was a dark-haired, green-eyed fellow. Tall, but not as tall as Sebastian himself, with broad shoulders and stubble along his jaw. He had only a vaguely attractive face—more average than spectacular, really. He was a nobody. It was what he was willing to do that drew the sniper toward him.

Sebastian’s ears rang as his skull cracked backwards against the pavement, a thick, strong hand clasped tight around the front of his throat. It tightened until he couldn’t breathe, until his vision went black and his body began to seize from shock. He distantly remembered his trousers being tugged down, a weight resting over his thighs—he didn’t know what the gruff stranger did beyond that, or whether protection was utilized.

The next thing he remembered was a great, _glorious_ gasp of air, coupled along with an intense pleasure. The sensations combined to create the most fantastic feeling of being _alive_. Of _being_. It was pure and utter release.

When he properly came to, he was alone in the shadows of the alley with his pants down, a split lip, and a myriad of finger-shaped bruises and teeth marks wrapped around his throat. He smiled. That was all that he had wanted.

Utterly wasted and high in his post-coital haze, Sebastian felt invincible. _Why had I never done this before?_ he thought. His steps swerved and feet stumbled as he made his way back to his own vehicle—a hot red rental car without a ding in it. His fingers were still only fastening his belt as he made it to the door, and he climbed in, fingers sliding appreciatively over the polished wood detailing of the dashboard. See, now _this_ was all he needed. Expensive cars and rough shags.

The way back home was a long one and, drunk as he was, it was quite miraculous that the sniper even managed to make it out of town.

It was nearing three in the morning when it happened. Sebastian hadn’t been on the highway for more than five minutes when he swerved into an oncoming lane and was struck by a lorry.

Metal curled around his body, closing in on all sides as glass glittered all over him, reflecting light and drawing blood. Everything seemed to move slowly, a sudden heat cutting through the chill of the night and enveloping him as his body bent to the forces of physics. His eyes fixated on a spray of blood, the red liquid wrenched from his body so as to have formed a fine mist before him as it splattered against the once-fine interior. He only had time to see, and not think, before a sharp, crushing pain penetrated the side of his skull, and all went black.


End file.
